Familiar Places
by J9
Summary: Warrick and Sara begin to see one another differently (WS) Chapter 6 uploaded December 9th 2003
1. On the Floor

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Title: On the Floor

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Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

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Rating: PG

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Pairing: Sara/Warrick

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Spoilers: None 

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Feedback: Makes my day

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Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

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Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

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Summary: Sara finds Warrick in an unusual position

***

"Don't move." 

I know that I'm being rude, cutting Sara off in mid-sentence, but given the alternative, I'd rather be rude. Not that there was much chance of her actually saying much more; her voice was already trailing off before I said a word. Not that I can blame her; after all, if I came downstairs from a crime scene to find her crawling around on the floor on her hands and knees, I'd be speechless too. 

But this is Sara, so she recovers quickly. "Warrick, what the hell are you doing?" There's a slight chuckle in her voice, and I give her a look of disgust over my shoulder. Of course, since my left eye is screwed tightly shut, the look doesn't have the desired effect; instead, her smile broadens, her shoulders shaking with stifled laughter. 

"I dropped a contact lens," I tell her, going back to my searching. "I think it was around here somewhere…" That said, I've been crawling around here for the last ten minutes without any luck. 

"Is there anything I can do to help?" She's doing her best to keep her amusement in check, not doing a very good job of it, and I hold up a hand to get her to stay where she is. 

"Just stay there," I tell her. "Don't want you stepping on it." 

"OK." But behind me, I hear the click of a torch being switched on, and when I glance over my shoulder again, I see a very lop-sided, blurry Sara shining a beam of light on the floor, eyes narrowed as she joins me in my search. 

There's silence in the kitchen for a good five minutes, then Sara's voice breaks it. "Found it." She sounds triumphant, and I turn quickly, carefully, crawling over to the spot she's illuminated. 

"Can you get me the sterile water from my kit?" I ask as I pick the tiny piece of plastic up, dropping it in the palm of my hand. By the time I've done that, she's back kneeling in front of me, water bottle open, and she watches, with a slightly bemused look on her face as I irrigate the lens, making sure that no specks of dirt cling to it. I hand the water back to her and move the lens to the tip of my finger, getting ready to put it in, and it's then that she speaks. 

"Are you sure you're supposed to be doing that?"

I shoot her a look before using my index and middle finger to hold my eye open. "Not really," I tell her, knowing the answer should be no, but I've done this before and I've not gone blind yet. I just won't tell Doctor Harris about this at my next check-up. Staring straight ahead, I pop in the lens, blinking quickly and rubbing my eyelid, moving the lens into place, blinking some more and looking at Sara, who is blessedly in focus, and smiling at me. 

And I blink again then, because I don't think I ever realised until just now what a beautiful smile she has. 

I'm getting a very good look at it, because it broadens as I stare at her, and I'm suddenly aware that she's looking right into my eyes. "Are those lenses tinted?" she asks, and I raise an eyebrow, genuinely surprised at the question. 

"No," I reply. "Just my regular eyes." 

If the question surprised me, so too does her reaction to my answer, her lips quirking up in a grin, her shoulders rising in a shrug, her gaze dropping down to the floor. None of those things are as interesting as the flush of red that spreads across her cheeks. "I just never noticed them before is all," she says quietly, and something, some spark of madness lights inside my heart, makes me reach out my hand to her chin, cupping it, lifting her head so that she can look at me again. 

"Yeah," I say. "There's a lot of that going around." 

She doesn't say anything, and we stay like that for what seems like a long time, the two of us kneeling on the floor facing one another, but it can't be more than a minute before I'm aware that I'm leaning closer to her, not only that, but she's leaning towards me too. I've barely had time to process that realisation when her lips are touching mine. 

I'd be lying if I said that I've never thought about kissing Sara; I just never thought it would happen. 

And I certainly didn't expect it to happen like this, or for it to feel so right. 

But when we pull away from one another, her eyes sparkling, her smile broader than any I've ever seen from her, I realise that this is pretty close to perfect. 


	2. In the Car

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Title: In the Car

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Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

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Rating: PG

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Pairing: Sara/Warrick

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Feedback: Makes my day

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Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

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Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

****

Notes: Second in the _Familiar Places _series, following _On the Floor_. I have no earthly clue where I'm going with this, so bear with me!

***

This is a place that I've been many times before; in the car with Sara, on the way back to the lab from a crime scene. It's familiar territory, so I know what should be happening right about now. We should be talking about the case, about what we've found out so far, what our next step is. Or we might be shooting the breeze, exchanging lab gossip or plans for what we're going to do after shift. 

Instead I'm driving, and we're sitting here in complete silence. 

Not that I'm surprised at that. After all, we've been at any number of crime scenes together since she came to work in Vegas. And we've talked at them, we've laughed at them, we've teased one another at them. We've even fought at them, but we've never wound up kissing before. 

Things were fine when we were still at the house; we were at ease with one another, loading up the car in smiling silence, and I remember thinking that this could be the start of something great. It was only when we got on the road that the air molecules in the car started to alter, the magic that had been lingering around us seeming to dissipate. I thought I was just being paranoid until I looked over at her, noticed that the smile that had been on her face when we were on the kitchen, the sparkle that had been in her eyes, had faded somewhat. It's been replaced by a slight pallor, and she's chewing her bottom lip, as if she's nervous about something. I'm more than familiar with that look, it's the same look that she gets when she's ruminating over some aspect of a case, when there's a part of a puzzle that she can't quite grasp. 

She's not doing that now. 

Or at least if she is, it's got nothing to do with a case. 

No matter what it may have taken to get me to see her clearly, see her in this whole new light, I'd be lying if I said that I've never thought about something like this happening between the two of us. Sara, on the other hand, I'd be willing to bet, has never considered it. I may be short-sighted, but I ain't blind, and it's obvious, no matter how much I might want to pretend otherwise, that I'm not the CSI she's been dreaming about. 

I am, however, her friend. I'm also the guy that kissed her a few minutes ago, made her smile like I've never seen her smile, and there are worse places for the two of us to be than that. 

Even if she doesn't realise it right now. 

Because I know Sara Sidle, and I'm pretty sure I know what she's thinking right about now. I also know that it can only lead to disaster, so I tell her, in a sing-song voice to take the sting out of my words, "Stop it." 

From the corner of my eye, I see her head turn sharply towards me. "I'm not doing anything," she says defensively, and I glance at her quickly, giving her a look, before turning my gaze back on the road again. 

"I can hear those wheels turning in your head," I tell her. "I know what you're thinking." 

"Oh yeah?" It's a pure challenge, and one that I don't shrink from. 

"You're probably wondering what the hell happened back in that kitchen," I say bluntly. "Wanting to know what it means, what you should do, what you should say…" I chance another glance at her, to see her staring straight ahead, her bottom lip once more being chewed. "Am I wrong?"

What seems like a long pause follows, until she expels one long breath. "No," she admits, and when I look over at her again, her eyes are filled with doubt, her voice caught somewhere between there and resolve. "We need to talk."

"No doubt. But we can't do it here." 

"Then where?"

I look at the clock on the dashboard, realising as I do so that it's almost clocking off time, which makes things a little easier for us. At least we're not going to have to work with this hanging over our heads. "Shift's almost over," I tell her. "Come over to my place. We can talk there." 

She nods her head, a series of quick, if not decisive looking, jerks, and her voice is equally uncertain when she says, "OK." 

I don't say anything to that, because I'm just beginning to feel like we're back on an even keel, and she doesn't speak until we pull into the parking lot of the lab. In a day full of surprises, her words are another one. "I don't know where you live," she tells me, and it's the tone, more so than the words, that have me looking at her. She looks wide-eyed and unsure, and any other time I might try to tease her about that. Now however, it's anything but funny. 

"I'll give you directions," I tell her, reaching into the glovebox for pen and paper, printing my address at the top, taking her through the directions as I scribble a map, making sure she knows exactly where I'm talking about. When I'm done, I hold the map out for her to take. "Know where you're going?" I ask with a smile, a joke to ease the tension, but it doesn't seem to work. 

"I think so." That same unsure look is in her eyes, a tremor in her voice, and I've never heard Sara sound like that, not once in all the time I've known her. 

"It's ok," I tell her as she reaches out to take the map from me, her fingers closing over mine, lingering there. "I won't get you lost." Instead of letting her hand drop, I hold it tighter, squeezing it for just a minute as I speak. A spark of something flares in her eyes, and I know she understands that I'm not just talking about directions. 

"Promise?" she asks, with the ghost of a smile of her own, one that I return. 

"I promise." 


	3. In the Living Room

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Title: In the Living Room

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Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

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Rating: PG

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Pairing: Sara/Warrick

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Feedback: Makes my day

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Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

****

Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

****

Notes: Third in the _Familiar Places _series, following _On the Floor_ and _In the Car_. I know it's been a while, but I have a plan of sorts, so I should be able to be a bit more timely with the next one. glares at friends Who was it said I'd not done a CSI series yet?

***

I make sure that I'm out of the lab as quickly as possible when shift ends; the last thing I want to do right now is get stuck pulling a double. Though, if I were to put in time with Sara, I'm not sure I'd mind so much. 

Except of course, that the journey back to the lab wasn't the most comfortable experience of my life, and I realise yet again that she was right. We do need to talk about what happened at the crime scene, we do need to figure out where we're going with this, if we're going anywhere at all, which I really hope we are. 

My directions were fairly idiot-proof, so baring disaster or Grissom corralling her into overtime, it shouldn't take too long for her to get here. Which should leave me with just enough time to make sure that the place is passably clean, and put on a pot of coffee. I get the feeling that we're going to need lots of coffee for this discussion. 

In point of fact, I've time enough to get the place more than shipshape, and change my clothes before I hear the doorbell chime. I don't hesitate to answer it, because I'm not so sure that she's not going to turn tail and run on me, and when I open it, see that bottom lip once more caught between her teeth, I know that I'm right. And I'm also pretty sure that the fact that she took her time getting here was nothing to do with the fact that she couldn't follow my directions, or that Grissom snaffled her, and everything to do with her confusion about what's happened between us today. 

"Hey," is all I say, stepping aside to let her in, and she gives me the faintest hint of a smile, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

"Sorry I'm late," she says, stepping by me, and I shrug easily. 

"You're worth the wait," I say, keeping my tone as light as possible, but I don't miss the way she hesitates before continuing on her way, dropping her purse and jacket on a chair before sinking down on the couch. She doesn't looked relaxed though, doesn't lean back on the couch. Instead, she sits right on the edge, as if she's poised to run at any moment, her hands joined on her knees as if in prayer. "Can I get you anything?" I ask. "Coffee, juice…?"

She shakes her head, looking up at me, and while her smile was distinctly nervous, it vanishes completely as she tilts her head and narrows her eyes, eyeing me up as if I'm some specimen in the lab that's not doing what she wants it to. Which mightn't be too far from the truth. "You're wearing glasses," she says, stating the obvious and I look away as I sit down close to her, so I don't see her face when she continues, "I've never seen them before."

"Yeah," I reply, understanding her surprise, because unless I absolutely have to, I don't wear my glasses around the lab; call it vanity, call it the remnants of high school, and the names that were hurled at a skinny, bespectacled bookworm. "I wear mostly lenses for work…it's easier." I would have kept wearing them now except for the fact that the sterile water at the crime scene evidently didn't do its job, because by the time I got home from work, my left eye felt like a thousand grains of sand were lodged there. 

I chance a look at Sara now, only to see her looking at me, eyes narrowed, but this looks like concern rather than curiosity. "Your eye's all red," she notes, reaching out a hand to touch my cheek, turning my head so that she can see better. The touch lasts for only an instant; I get the feeling that she realised what she was doing, and thought she might be crossing a line. Whatever the reason, she drops her hand as if she's been burned, and maybe that's how she felt, because I know I can still feel her touch on my skin, even after her hand is on her knee again. 

"You're the one who wasn't sure I should be cleaning the lens with sterile water," I remind her. "Turns out you were right." 

I threw that last bit in, in the hope that it would stop her chewing her bottom lip again, and it works, a genuine laugh escaping her. "Aren't I always?" she retorts, looking me right in the eye, and for a moment, we're back to normal, bantering with each other the way we've done a thousand times since we've been working together. 

But it's just for a moment. 

Then she looks down again, and I fight back a sigh, because I'm not so sure where we're going to go from here. I have my own ideas about where I'd like us to go, but that's neither here nor there, not with the way she's feeling. "I like them," she says, and I blink, not sure what she means, and one shoulder rises and falls in a shrug as she looks up at me. "The glasses I mean. They suit you." 

I roll my eyes. "You should see the high school photos," I tell her. "Thick, coke-bottle lenses...not a good look." Which is where the teasing and hatred of wearing glasses comes in, and evidently telling Sara stories at my expense is another way of making her comfortable, because she smiles, the tension in her shoulders easing ever so slightly. 

"I so want to see these photos," she says. "Who do I have to talk to?" She's looking around, as if I'm going to have some on display, and her gaze falls on a photo on the mantelpiece. "Is that your grandmother?" 

"Yeah." She stands, going to the photo and taking it up, observing it carefully. "It's from a few months ago, at her eightieth birthday party…"

She looks over her shoulder at me, and the smile that she gives me dries up any and all moisture in my throat, stops any further words from coming out. "It's a good picture," she says softly. "You look like her… the eyes…"

I nod, because I've been hearing that my whole life. "You'd like her," I decide, and the words surprise her, if the quick glance she gives me is anything to go by. 

"If she'll show me some embarrassing photos of you…" she begins, and I chuckle, because there's nothing surer. 

"Then you'll get along fine," I tell her, and she holds my gaze for a moment before turning back to the mantelpiece, placing the frame down carefully. 

Neither of us speak for a long moment, and with her back to me, I can see the tension settling back across her shoulders. I'm not surprised when she turns to me, heaving a huge sigh, her jaw set, eyes fixed to the ceiling and over to the right, not looking at me. "What are we doing Warrick?" she asks, cutting right to the chase, and I sigh too, shaking my head. 

"I'm not sure," I tell her honestly, because I don't think that now is the time to be anything less than honest with her. 

It seems to do the trick, because she smiles hesitantly, tucking her hair behind her ear again, just like she did when I first opened the door to her. "I don't know what happened today," she says, her eyes sliding off me as she begins to pace. "I mean, one minute we were there, and we were talking just the way we always do, and then the next thing I know, we're kissing…" Her voice trails off as she pivots on her heel, looking at me then looking away again. "I've never thought of you like that."

Which isn't news to me, but nonetheless, it stings. "It surprised me too," I tell her quietly. 

She continues as if I hadn't spoken, pacing all the while. "And now, it's all I can think about," she admits, which is slightly more like what I wanted to hear. "Except that I don't know if we… I mean… we work together, we're friends, and I don't want to screw that up…" She stops talking abruptly when she literally walks into me, because I stood up when I heard her says that kissing me was all she could think about. She looks up at me in surprise, says my name, but that's all I let her say, because I do the only thing I can think of to stop her babbling, to let her know exactly where I stand. 

I kiss her. 

I thought that the kiss in the kitchen, while fairly innocent in its way, was also quite worthy of fireworks. This though, is something else altogether, all pretence of innocence or chastity banished, vanished in a combination of nerves and tension and just plain desire. I pull her close to me, and she's holding me just as tightly, pressing her body against mine, hands sliding up and down my back. My own hands aren't idle either, moving across her back, through her hair, and when we finally separate, only because oxygen deprivation is becoming a problem, we're both breathing hard. 

She's smiling at me, but it's not a nervous smile anymore. Still, I find myself enabling her nervous habit, loosening my grip on her only so that I can reach my hand up to her cheek, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. "I don't know what it is we're doing Sara," I whisper, once more being honest with her. "But I don't want to let it go." 

The silence that follows seems to last for an eternity before she replies, "Neither do I." That much agreed on, I'd be happy to just bask in the moment, but characteristically, Sara's already moving on to the next step. "So what do we do now?"

The question makes me smile, both in the phrasing, and the fact that I already know the answer. "Well, I do have one suggestion…" I say, letting my voice trail off suggestively. 

She leans back in my arms, lifts an eyebrow. "Oh?" 

I know what she thinks I was thinking, and I take great delight in pulling the rug out from under her. "I think we need to go on a date," I tell her, and her jaw literally drops. 

"A date?" she echoes, and I nod firmly. 

"A real date. One where I pick you up, take you out to dinner…where there's good conversation, maybe a little dancing…"

Both eyebrows are now raised and she's beaming. "Dancing huh?" she asks. "I like the sound of that." 

My hands trace lazy patterns on her back, and it strikes me that only for the absence of music, we could be dancing right now. "Then it's a date?" I ask, because I have to be sure. 

I didn't think it was possible for her smile to get any wider, but it does. "It's a date." 


	4. On the Town

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Title: On the Town

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Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

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Rating: PG

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Pairing: Sara/Warrick

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Feedback: Makes my day

****

Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

****

Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

****

Notes: Fourth in the _Familiar Places _series, following _On the Floor_, _In the Car_ and _In the Living Room_.

***

In my time working as a CSI on graveyard, I've learned that making a date with someone is not exactly the easiest thing in the world. I do my best, but the fact of the matter is, during the hours when most people are out and about, I'm working, and one night off a week doesn't exactly make for a good relationship. 

It's easier however, when the people you have a date with also works nightshift, which came in handy when Lea and I were together. We had a good time together, and compared to some relationships I've been in, we had a good innings, but we were never well-matched enough to make it work long term. 

I'm hoping though, that things will work out differently with Sara. 

I pull up at her place at exactly the time I said I'd be here, keen to make a good impression, and despite the fact that I've known her for literally years, I'm still more than a little nervous when I knock on her door. I suddenly understand how Sara must have felt yesterday when she came knocking on my door after that kiss, and now I don't blame her a bit for being late. 

She doesn't take long to open the door, and she gives me a smile, not the full wattage grin that I've seen her flash on occasion, but enough of one to banish any of my nerves. "Right on time," she says, stepping back to let me in, and I take the opportunity to look around, taking in as much as I can. It's a nice place, small, with the kitchen to my left, living room in front of me, and the bathroom and bedroom somewhere off to the side. 

"I know how you like that," I tell her as I check the place out, and when I look at her, see the twinkle in her eyes, I know that she's noticed what I'm doing. When she turns away, I also figure out that she's not going to call me on it. Instead she's reaching for the purse that's left on the kitchen counter, her jacket already slung over one arm. "You ready to go?"

She nods, a funny little grin on her face. "Unless you want to look around some more," she teases, but there's an edge to her voice that lets me know exactly what she's thinking. 

Which is also exactly what I'm thinking, and while I wouldn't be adverse to finding the bedroom and examining the furniture closely, I know that we can't right now. If this, whatever it is, stands any chance at all of working, we've got to take things slow. 

"How about I take a rain check on that?" I ask, going to her, falling into step beside her, letting my hand rest on the small of her back. 

She grins up at me again, and I feel as well as hear her chuckle. "It's a date," she tells me, and the fact that she's repeating words that we've already used with one another makes me ridiculously happy. 

I drive to the restaurant, a nice little out of the way place that I know. It's not too fancy, but it's not the usual diner that we go to either; the lights are low and there are candles on the tables, even though, at three in the afternoon, the lunch crowd has only just abated. It's a good time to come here though, in between rushes as it were, so there's not too much noise or too many people. We can just sit across from one another at the table and talk, get to know one another a little better. 

And that's exactly what we do. 

I guess I thought that having worked with Sara for so long I knew a lot about her, but it doesn't take long for me to be disabused of that notion. For instance, while I guessed that she wasn't especially close to her parents, purely from the fact that she doesn't go home that much, I always assumed that her parents were some kind of highly paid, ultra-conservative type people. I never, in a million years, would have guessed that they were ex-hippies who ran a B&B, who never let her cut her hair until she was eighteen. 

"You're kidding me," I say, when she drops that particular bombshell in my lap. 

"Nope," she says, shaking her head, a crooked smile adorning her face. "I had hair down to my waist till I went to Harvard. One of the first things I did there was chop it all off." 

I try to imagine Sara with hair that long, and fail completely. "I would've liked to see that," I tell her honestly, and that's greeted with another laugh. 

"Oh no." It's said more than a little firmly. "Remember what you were saying about your high school photos?" 

"Ah." Deciding to drop that particular subject, I seize on her mention of Harvard. "So, what was Harvard like?" 

"Cold," she replies instantly, with an exaggerated shudder. "Boston winters are always the first thing that comes to mind." 

"So that's why you went back to San Francisco," I surmise, and she nods. 

"That, and the fact that I always loved the city," she says. She smiles again, a look in her eyes that tells me she's a hundred miles away, but then her face clears, and she looks at me curiously, tilting her head. "What about you? Never wanted to leave Vegas?"

I shrug, taking my time with my answer, because for a time, that was all I might have wanted. "Sometimes," I tell her honestly, and I know it's not the answer she was expecting when she lifts an eyebrow. 

"Why didn't you?"

I shrug again. "I was eighteen," I tell her. "Applying to colleges, scouting for scholarships, you know, the usual." If anyone would know, it would be her, so she nods. "I was all ready to go away… Yale, believe it or not." 

She looks torn between wanting to glare at me for admitting acceptance to her alma mater's sworn rivals, and asking me further questions. She opts for the latter, a curious expression on her face. "What stopped you?" 

"I never knew my father," I tell her, and she blinks at the apparent change in subject. "My mom and I lived with my grandmother, until I was seven. That's when my mom was killed in a car crash." Her jaw drops, but she recovers quickly. 

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. 

"So then it was just Grams and me," I continue. "And she wanted me to go to college, she was already bragging to all her friends about her grandson going off to Yale…" I smile at the memory, about how she loved to embarrass me like that, trotting me out at every opportunity just so she could tell the story over and over. "Then I was at school one day and I got a message to call to the office… our neighbours were on the phone, telling me that Grams was in Desert Palms… she'd had a heart attack." 

I don't even have to close my eyes to remember how scared I was that day, and I can still remember what that corridor looked liked, how it smelled, the face of the receptionist who told me where to go, the nurse who came to give me updates. It was one of the worst days of my life. 

"She got better," I tell Sara quickly, seeing the concern on her face. "Mild heart attack… but it took her a long time to get there, and I didn't want to leave her. I'd applied to Western LVU anyway, as a backup, so my guidance counsellor pulled a few strings, called in a few favours, and that's where I ended up." Another shrug. "Haven't left since." 

Sara's staring at me with amazement written all over her face. "You were accepted to Yale, and you passed it up to stay with your grandmother?"

"She needed me," I tell her simply. "I could get a full ride to Western, work part-time, help pay the bills…" What I did to pay the bills though, is a story for another time, because while we're having a nice time, I don't think that tales of me working as a runner would keep the trend going. "It's no big deal." 

My hand's been tapping restlessly on the table as I recount the tale, and it only stops now because her hand reaches across the table, a warm weight on top of mine. "Yes," she tells me softly. "It is." 

I want to say something, but unfortunately, what with her skin against mine and the way she's looking at me, I'm having difficulty forming a coherent thought. So I don't speak, instead turning my hand under hers, closing my fingers around her palm. 

We sit there for what seems like a long time, just smiling at one another, holding hands, and I'm almost ready to speak again, have almost thought of the perfect words for this moment, but the ringing of a cell phone puts paid to that notion. Sara's eyes narrow into a glare, and I might think she's angry were it not for the distinct sparkle in her eyes, the puckering of her lips into a smile. "If that's Grissom…" she threatens, and I laugh, using my free hand to reach for my phone. I don't care who it is, I don't want to let go of her hand. 

But it's not Grissom, and the words I hear have my stomach churning, my mind reeling in shock and disbelief. I was only revisiting this minutes ago, it can't be happening again. 

When I put the phone back down on the table however, only to see her staring at me in a mixture of fear and concern, realise that my hand is gripping hers tightly, I realise that it is. 

"What's wrong?" she asks without preamble, and my voice doesn't sound like my own when I answer. 

"That was the hospital," I tell her. "It's my Grams… she's had another heart attack." 


	5. In the Hall

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Title: In The Hall

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Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

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Rating: PG

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Pairing: Sara/Warrick

****

Feedback: Makes my day

****

Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

****

Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

****

Notes: Fifth in the _Familiar Places _series, following _On the Floor_, _In the Car_, _In the Living Room_ and _On The Town_

***

If I didn't know better, I'd swear this is the same bench, same hallway, that I was sitting in as a senior in high school.

I know it's insane. I know it's not possible, but then again, considering today's events, I'm willing to believe in the impossible right about now. 

After all, I haven't told anyone about what happened back then in years. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever told anyone what I told Sara over dinner. What are the odds that at the very moment I was telling her about Grams's first heart attack, Grams was at home with Mrs Beckett from down the block, having her second? 

Hell, I bet for years, would bet, as the saying goes, on two raindrops sliding down a windowpane. Not even I would have taken those odds on. 

Yet here I am. And while it might not actually be the same hall, it sure as hell looks like it, bluish tinged walls with those high ceilings, windows casting shafts of sunlight along the walls and floor, shadows that are ever shortening by now. Medical personnel walk along, mostly at their leisure, like they don't know that people are fighting for their lives around here, and every so often someone goes by who's obviously a patient, or who has someone in their lives who is a patient here. A woman walked by about an hour ago, her eyes red from crying, tears still rolling down her cheeks, tissue pressed to her lips, and I actually had to look down, look away from her. 

There's still that same smell, that perfectly clean, perfectly sterile antiseptic smell that clings to your pores more than any decomp ever will, the smell that I know I won't be able to get out of my mind for weeks. The bench is as hard and uncomfortable as the one all those years ago, and while standing and walking would probably be a good idea, I can't find the energy somehow. 

There is one important difference between this time, and the last time I sat here like this, waiting for news of Grams. 

Last time, I didn't have Sara with me. 

And I don't know how I got through it without her. 

She's been incredible, ever since that phone call wrecked what was a perfectly good first date. It took a second for the words to sink in, but when they did, she went straight into her most professional, take charge mode, signalling the waiter for the cheque, letting go of my hand to reach for her purse. Ordinarily, I'd protest my date paying for anything, but this time I was so shocked that it didn't register with me, hasn't until just this minute in fact. 

She pulled a handful of bills out of her wallet, pausing only to check that she'd left enough to cover it, before standing up, reaching for my hand again. "Come on," she said, taking my hand in hers as I obeyed her command automatically. She led me out into the parking lot, over to my car, where she held out her hand, looking up at me expectantly. When I didn't react fast enough for her liking, she prompted me with another command. "Give me your keys."

"Why?" I was starting to come back to myself a little, fishing in my jacket pocket for the keys, and when they appeared, she grabbed them before I could react. 

"Because you're in no state to drive," she told me crisply, unlocking the car. "It's Desert Palm, right?"

I nodded. "You don't have to-" I began, but she cut me off with a look. 

"Warrick, I'm not leaving you on your own with this." She sounded almost affronted that I'd think such a thing, giving my hand one last squeeze before dropping it and going around to the driver's side. "Now, get in the car." 

Pretty sure that it was more than my life was worth to say no to her, not really up to a fight over it, I gave in, and we didn't talk as she drove to the hospital. I was thinking of Grams, remembering the past, and she left me to those thoughts, not saying anything until she dropped me at the main entrance, telling me to go on ahead, that she'd park the car and find me in a few minutes. 

She did, and she's been sitting beside me ever since. 

A glance at my watch tells me exactly how long it's been since we've been sitting here, almost four hours now, and I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, rubbing my hands over my face. "Why aren't they telling us anything?" I whisper, more to myself than to her, and she doesn't answer, not in words anyway. Instead, her right arm, the one closest to me, reaches out, her hand beginning to move across my back in wide, sweeping circles. Her left hand meanwhile, settles on my knee, squeezes once, then just rests there lightly. 

After a couple of minutes of that, I'm myself enough to lift my head from my hands, giving her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry," I breathe, just in case she missed it, and she grins, left hand squeezing my knee again. 

"It's fine." I straighten up, expecting her right hand to fall away, but instead she stretches her arm out, so that her hand lands on my shoulder, her arm all the way across my back. It strikes me suddenly, from nowhere, that I never would have pegged Sara Sidle as one who would be so publicly demonstrative with someone… I would say someone she was dating, but we're hardly that, we've had a few kisses and half a dinner, that's hardly dating. 

But staying here with me like this goes above and beyond the call of friendship. 

I'm so preoccupied with trying to make sense of my thoughts that I don't hear what she says. "What?"

She frowns slightly, repeating herself. "I said, you want some coffee, a soda, anything? I'm sure there's a vending machine around here somewhere…"

She's offered that, at minimum, once an hour since we've been here, and my answer is no different. "Nah. Thank you." 

She nods, looks down at her hand on my leg and sighs. When she looks up again, I know she has a question for me, because she's got that look on her face. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asks, and I'm able to give her a genuine smile at that, because she's doing more than she thinks. 

Nine times out of ten, I'd keep that thought to myself. However, this, being in this place, with my grandmother possibly hovering between life and death, with all the things that I never said to her rattling around in my head, this is the tenth time. So I'm completely honest with her. 

"Sara, you being here is enough," I tell her, and at any other time, the way her jaw drops, her blink of surprise, would have me in stitches. Now however, I just close my hand over hers and hope she knows I'm telling her the truth. "I'm sorry for this by the way… it's not the date that I was planning for the two of us." 

She emits a surprised little giggle at that, leans forward for a second, pressing her head against my shoulder. I tilt my own head, resting it against hers and closing my eyes, and for a moment, just for a moment, I can almost forget where we are. 

It's only for a moment though, because then she straightens up, looks into my eyes. "Tell me about her," she says softly, tentatively, and I look off into the distance as I consider her request. Not that I'm considering refusing it mind, I'm just wondering what words, what stories, best sum up Grams. 

"She raised me," I tell her simply. "Not just me either… I think she ended up raising half the kids in the neighbourhood… or at least feeding them. They all wanted to come over for some of Grams's cooking. Especially when I got older… me and the guys'd go out on Friday nights, usually after baseball games, and they'd all end up crashing at our place… and Grams'd spent all morning Saturday morning feeding us." The memory brings a smile to my face, of a kitchen table surrounded by teenagers, Grams at the stove, cooking away, assured by me that everyone was up, only for another teenager to stumble down the stairs minutes later. "She never said anything about it though, never complained. Just took care of us." A suspicious lump forms in my throat. "She always took care of me." 

Sara's hand squeezes my shoulder gently. "And then you took care of her," she murmurs, and I shrug. 

"Never crossed my mind to do anything else," I tell her honestly, and it's always baffled me why people treat the choice I made like it's some kind of big thing. "I could go to college anywhere, Grams was in Vegas." Another memory stirs in me, and I chuckle. "You should've seen the mileage she got out of that… first it was all about her boy being accepted to Yale, then it was all about how he was turning down Yale because he didn't want to leave her… not that she took it lying down mind you, she battled me tooth and nail over it. Said she didn't want me giving up my dreams for her. I told her I was doing what I wanted to do, and she couldn't talk me out of it. Course, it didn't hurt that I didn't tell her what I was doing until it was too late to change it." 

She laughs at that. "Pure chance, right?" she asks dryly, and I would reply, except that I've been floored by a realisation, something that stuns me so sharply all I can do is look at her, look into her eyes. She must see that, because she frowns slightly, and before she can ask me what's wrong, I share my discovery. 

"You're a lot like her you know." 

A spark of surprise flares in her eyes, burns across her face. "I'm going to take that as a compliment," she says, with a small laugh, but I'm completely serious as I look at her. 

"You should." The tone of my voice declares that I'm serious, that I'm not playing this for laughs, and it stuns her into momentary silence, makes her look hard at me. 

"In what way?" she asks when she can speak again, and this time, there's no hesitating in my reply. 

"You're both strong, smart… both of you can take care of yourselves…" I grin as another, rather more obvious similarity comes to me. "Neither one of you let me get away with anything…" She laughs too at that, presses herself closer to me on the bench, and I shift slightly so that I'm facing her more, lifting her hand that's been resting on my knee this whole time. I don't let it go though, instead moving so that our fingers intertwine, lacing together, and I stare down at our joined hands as I speak. "God Sara…" My voice is little more than a whisper. "I wish you'd met her…" The second the words leave my lips, I'm aware of how they sound, and I wish I could take them back. 

If she notices my defeatist attitude, she doesn't comment on it, instead squeezing our joined hands, her free hand sliding across my back, coming to rest on my shoulder. "I will," she tells me, her voice strong. "And we're going to get along great. You'll be coming up with ways to keep us apart." 

I want to believe her, but Grissom's maxim about believing the evidence echoes in my mind, and Sara's got none to back up her claim. However, this is Sara, and she doesn't speak lightly about matters like this, so I have to ask her, "What makes you so sure?"

In a day of surprises, in a week of surprises, I get another one when Sara replies, because there are tears standing in her eyes, and I hear more in her voice. "Because she raised you," she whispers, all her emphasis on the last word, her hand moving from my shoulder to my cheek as she says it.

The words, the feeling behind them, bring a smile to my face and tears to my eyes, and I shake my head to try to keep them back, because I don't want to fall apart, not at all and not in front of her. The fact of the matter is though, I want that, more than I've wanted anything in a long time. I want the two of them to meet, to get along. I want to hear the walls of Grams's living room ring with Sara's laughter as they look at old photographs of me while I hide in the kitchen, declaring embarrassment, but loving every minute. 

I'm a grown man, but right now, all I want is my grandmother. 

"She's eighty years old Sara," I say when I'm able to speak. "I know she's had a good innings, I know that. But she's my Grams… and I'm not ready to lose her yet."

Sara doesn't say anything to that; perhaps she knows there's nothing to say. But she does what's better, breaking our joined hands and moving so that both her arms are around my neck and she's holding me close. My arms slide around her waist and I bury my head in the crook of her shoulder, closing my eyes against the silky softness of her hair and holding on to her for dear life as the rest of the world goes on around us. 


	6. In the Room

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Title: In The Room

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Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

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Rating: PG

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Pairing: Sara/Warrick

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Feedback: Makes my day

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Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

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Archive: At my site Checkmate () , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

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Notes: Sixth in the _Familiar Places _series, following _On the Floor_, _In the Car_, _In the Living Room_, _On The Town_ and _In the Hall_

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Summary: Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning

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I shift again on the chair, which is only slightly more comfortable than the bench in the corridor. There is one advantage to it, which is that this chair is in Grams's hospital room, and from here, I can see her, can hold her by the hand, assure myself that she's there, that she's alive, that she's going to be all right. 

The main disadvantage to it is that Sara's not here with me. 

Not that she doesn't want to be, even if I'm not sure if the hospital would allow it. But she had to go to work, though she tried her hardest to convince me that she should stay. I told her to go though, reminding her that night shift were already going to be short-handed with me out, and that her absence would only lead to talk. She told me that she didn't care about talk, and to hear Sara Sidle, proud protector of her privacy, say those words would have made me laugh were I not so stunned. 

There was nothing I wanted more than to take her up on that offer, but I knew I couldn't. So much as it pained me, and her, I made her leave. I swear, it's the only time she's ever had to be forced to go to work. 

I missed her the instant she was gone, and I know it was my imagination, but time seemed to go twice as slowly without her there. It speeded up in a hurry when the doctor came towards me, asked for me by name. I was scared stiff about what he was going to tell me, but it was all good news. Grams had given them a bit of a scare, but she looked to be out of the woods, had been moved to a room of her own and was sleeping. He told me that I could go home, that they'd call me if there was any change, but there was no power on this earth that was going to get me out of this place before I saw Grams. The only thing I did do was call Sara, leaving a message on her voice mail, telling her that Grams was going to be ok. Then I went straight to the room, and I've been here ever since. 

I've spent so long staring at Grams, waiting for her to wake up, that at the slightest flutter of her eyelids, I'm instantly attentive. There have been a couple of false alarms, when I thought she might wake up, but this time, she shifts slightly in bed, beginning to stir, and I lean forward, increasing the pressure on her hand ever so slightly. "Grams?" I say softly when I see the first hint of green peeking through her pale skin. She turns her head towards me, blinking as she tries to focus, and I feel a smile of pure relief breaking across my face. "It's ok," I continue. "You're gonna be fine…"

She nods, her tongue reaching out to trace a path along her lips. Taking the hint, I let go of her hand, reaching for the jug of water on the bedside locker. I pour a glass, help her to wet her lips with it, and when she lies back, she smiles at me. It's a tired smile, I can't deny that, but it's a Grams smile nonetheless, the one that banished the aches of a thousand skinned knees and a hundred broken hearts, and it does me a power of good now too. Her eyes focus on me, but then they look past me, to the window beyond and the inky black sky outside. "Baby, what are you doing here?" she asks me, her voice raspy. "Shouldn't you be working?"

I bite back a grin, because the last time we were here like this, she asked me that question too, except then it was about school rather than work. Then, as now, I reach out, taking one of her hands in both of mine, trying not to notice how frail it seems. "I told them I had to see the most beautiful lady in Vegas," I tell her, and she closes her eyes, chuckling at the line. "They understood." 

She opens her eyes slowly, and gives me a look that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It's the look that she always used to give me when she thought I'd been up to some sort of mischief as a child, and she meant to find out just what it was. Of course, usually I had been up to some mischief, and that look always pricked my guilty conscience, which is the effect that it's having on me now, even though, as far as I know, I've done nothing to feel guilty about. This is Grams though, so she's not going to waste any time telling me. Nor does she, lifting one eyebrow. "That's why you're all dressed up then?"

Without thinking, I look down at my clothes, almost surprised to remember that I am more dressed up than I might usually be, the remnant of my interrupted date with Sara. Not that I'm extremely dressed up, though the shirt, brand new and pristine white is a bit of a give away. When I look back up at Grams again, she's still giving me that look, and I try to school my features into innocence, failing, I'm sure, as miserably as I did back when I was a kid. "I try to make an effort for you," I tell her. I know it's a lame retort the instant it's out there, and when a second raised eyebrow joins the first, I know she's going to call me on it. 

"You gonna tell me this girl's name, or do I have to have another heart attack?" she asks, and I can't keep the shock off my face. 

"That's not funny Grams," I tell her sharply, and the hand that's in the middle of mine squeezes gently, but her eyes still dance with wickedness. 

"I know it's not, so you'd better tell me all about your girl." 

"How do you even know I was on a date?" I ask her, giving her a look that's somewhere between hedging and exasperation. It's the kind of look that I've found myself giving Sara on more than one occasion, and once again I'm struck by the similarities between the two of them. It's quite a scary prospect. 

"That panicked look on your face right now is a pretty good indication," Grams tells me, and I've got to give her that one. Knowing when I'm beaten, I shake my head and accept defeat gracefully. 

"Her name is Sara," I say. "We work together, that's how we met. I've told you about her before." 

Grams was nodding from the moment she heard the name. "You've told me about her," she says. "You never mentioned you two were keeping company." 

The use of that particular phrase makes me smile. "That's new," I tell her, trying to keep back my laughter. "Very new."

"You gonna tell me anything about her?" 

I shrug, not finding it any easier to describe Sara to Grams than I had to describe Grams to Sara. "You'd like her," I finally say. "She's tough… doesn't let me get away with anything." 

Grams smiles, but her eyes close, and I know she's tiring again. "I like her already," she murmurs, her voice telling me that she's already halfway to sleep. "I want to meet her."

"Soon Grams," I whisper, pressing my hands harder against hers for a second. "Go to sleep." 

Her eyes open, but not for long. "You should go home… you look tired…" By the time she reaches the last word, her eyes are shut, her voice all but trailing off to nothing, and I stand up, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. 

"In a little while," I lie, and for once in my life, I don't feel the slightest bit guilty about doing it. "Go to sleep."

By the time I sit back down in the chair, she's already asleep again. Her hand is still wrapped up in mine, and I leave it there, sitting back down in the chair, watching her sleep, counting every breath. 

The next thing I know, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I jolt awake, only to find myself looking into Sara's concerned face. I blink in surprise at the sight, blinking again when my brain registers that sunlight is streaming in through the windows. "What time is it?" I whisper, keeping my voice low, which isn't hard when you consider that it's still hoarse with sleep. 

Sara, who I realise now is squatting beside my chair, keeping her balance thanks to one hand on my shoulder, the other on the arm of the chair, looks down at her watch. "Just after eight," she whispers. "How is she?"

I look over at Grams, whose eyes are still closed, lying in the same position she was in last night. Her breathing is deep and even, her face peaceful, and I feel myself smiling slightly. "She's gonna be fine," I say, the words sounding like a prayer of thanks in the early morning, and when I glance back at Sara, she's smiling too. 

"How are you?" is her next question, emphasis on the last word accompanied by a squeeze of my shoulder. Her eyes are narrowed, lips pursed, brow furrowed, and it strikes me that she's spent the entire shift worrying about me and Grams. 

Before I answer, I let go of Grams hand, which I've been holding on to all night, asleep or not, and take Sara's, bringing her fingers to my lips. The gesture makes her smile, and I take advantage of the moment of levity, pulling her up, indicating with a look that she should sit on the arm of the chair. Once she's balanced precariously there, her arm around my shoulders, face almost on a level with mine, I slide my arm around her waist, ostensibly to help her balance, in reality just because I want to touch her. Or maybe because I need to. 

"I'm fine," I tell her, not taking my eyes off hers, and I know that I'm telling her the truth. Because I'm in a room with my two girls and right now, that's everything to me. Sara can't know how I'm feeling though, and I see her eyes narrow just a little bit more as she studies my features, trying to ascertain if I'm telling her the truth or if I'm just saying this to make her feel better. While I'm sure she won't start an argument here, I decide it's better to head her off, just to be on the safe side, so before she can say anything I jump in with, "How was work?"

She shrugs. "The usual. I told Grissom about your grandmother, he says to take all the time you need." 

I nod, making a mental note to call Grissom when I get a chance. "He didn't ask you anything?" I wonder, looking her up and down, realising that she's changed from our date. She's wearing the same trousers and boots, but her shirt, which was red, short-sleeved and form fitting, is now one of those loose, flowing tye-dyed things that she favours for work. 

She shakes her head. "Got there on time, had a change of shirt in my locker," she says, obviously having anticipated my thoughts. "Besides, we're working the same case, it makes sense you'd have called me." 

I nod, that not having occurred to me. "Guess so," I say, closing my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose with my free hand. "My brain's still asleep." I feel her hand curl around my shoulder, fingers rubbing circles there, and when I manage to prise my eyes open, I see that hers are filled with worry. "Hey," I say, my free hand going up to her cheek. "I'm ok."

She doesn't look like she believes me, but when I trace a path along her cheek with my thumb, she closes her eyes, leaning into my touch. Her free hand reaches up, closes over mine, and she leans towards me, touching her forehead against mine. Her proximity acts like a magnet, drawing me towards her, and I brush my lips against hers, a kiss that, while brief, while chaste, nonetheless has my heart pounding in my chest, the blood rushing through my veins. 

When we pull back, I know I'm smiling, and her eyes are sparkling, her cheeks flushed pink. She looks down, clearing her throat and shifting slightly on her perch. "We probably shouldn't…" she begins, and I'm about to agree, until a new voice makes us both jump. 

"It's a little late for that my dear." 

My head snaps around to see Grams staring at us, looking far more alert than she did when last I was talking to her, a smile hovering around her lips. I feel my jaw drop slightly with surprise, and I know that Sara's feeling the same; I've got a feeling that my arm around her is the only thing that's keeping her from falling off the arm of the chair. 

Grams, with the advantage of surprise, continues talking. "Don't look so worried children, it does my heart good to see my baby happy." Sara and I glance at one another at the same time, then look back at Grams, neither of us knowing what to say. "Warrick Brown," Grams continues. "I didn't raise you to be rude." 

I know a hint when I hear one. "Sara, this is my Grams," I say. "Grams, this is Sara." 

I get one of those raised eyebrows in response. "Well, I guessed that much," she says archly, and I laugh out loud despite myself. 

"You've got to be feeling better," I tell her, earning a grin for my troubles. 

Beside me, Sara looks from me to Grams and back, repeats the manoeuvre several times. "It's nice to meet you Mrs Brown," she finally says, and I just about keep back a wince, knowing what's coming next. 

"Sara, I hear Mrs Brown and I start looking behind me for my mother-in-law," Grams says flatly, but not unkindly, a phrase that I could have recited right along with her. "And she's been dead many a long year. I'm Grams." 

Sara frowns, looking at me as if to find out if Grams is telling the truth, and I nod. "It's true," I tell her. "She's had every kid in the neighbourhood calling her that since I can remember… finally got so all the adults called her that too." Sara gives me a look that's frankly disbelieving, and I nod again. 

"OK," Sara tries again. "It's nice to meet you… Grams." The name sounds uncomfortable on her tongue, but she grins immediately afterwards, and I'm surprised by the effect that the word has on me, at the rush of emotion in my chest. This is what I wanted so badly last night, the two of them meeting one another, but I was scared that it would never happen, didn't let myself think about how it would feel when it did. 

It feels good. 

Grams chuckles, her eyes going from me to Sara and back again. "Sara, I need for you to do something for me," she says, and Sara frowns, back straightening, confusion radiating from her. 

"Me?" she asks, and Grams nods. 

"I need for you to take this boy home and make sure he gets some rest," she commands, and when I open my mouth to protest, she cuts me off. "Don't you give me any back-talk Warrick Brown, you look worse than I do." 

Again, I would protest, but Sara beats me to it this time. "She's right Warrick," she says, and my jaw drops again, as I look from one to the other. 

"Are you two ganging up on me?" I ask in amazement, and in the bed, Grams chuckles. 

"I knew I'd like this girl," she says, closing her eyes, smiling like the cat that got the cream, and I feel Sara's shoulders shake with laughter. 

"I warned you," she says, just low enough so that I can hear it, and I remember last night in the hallway, and what she said to me there. 

"OK, I'm not even going to try going up against the two of you," I decide, noting the two identical smiles of satisfaction on their faces. Sara stands first and I follow, going over to Grams and kissing her cheek. "You're sure you're going to be ok?" I ask, and she nods, patting my cheek. 

"I'm fine," she tells me. "You go home, get some sleep." 

I still don't want to leave her, settle for making her a promise. "I'll be back later, ok?" 

"Take your time," Grams orders, glancing over my shoulder, and it's only when Sara takes my hand that I realise she's come over to stand beside the bed. "You take care of him, you understand?"

"Yes Grams," she says obediently, sounding as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. When I look down at her though, I see the steel resolve glinting in her eyes, feel it in the way her hand tightens on mine. Nor do I miss Grams's nod in her direction, and it comes to me once again that Sara was right, that they are going to get along well, and I wonder what the hell I've let myself in for. 

Then I stop wondering, because I really wouldn't have it any other way. 


End file.
